


Equilibrium

by AaylaSecurity



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Drama, M/M, Politics, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:35:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AaylaSecurity/pseuds/AaylaSecurity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during ME2. Given their options, there was no better outcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Equilibrium

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to Absolutely Not Kindred Spirits, with illustration by the lovely Velasa.

Councilor Sparatus was in a foul mood. He was beginning to understand why the tenure of councilors – turian councilors, that is, for asari councilors apparently stayed being councilors forever – was legally eight years. He himself was approaching his last year in office, during this time he:

  * Gained considerable weight
  * Replaced his blood with energy drinks
  * Rekindled his unhealthy relationship with anti-depressant medication
  * Suffered fourteen cases of food poisoning
  * Was driven insane



As much overdramatic as the last item sounded, it wasn’t. He _was_ insane, after all. Of course, his problems weren’t nearly as entertaining as Valern’s, the first male salarian councilor in at least 2400 years, that is, _sixty_ salarian life-spans, who was simultaneously combating sexism and the (highly credible) allegation his appointment was engineered by asari puppet-masters after Sur’Kesh’s economy suffered another so-called “Popular Collapse” (“They Had It Coming” was more like it). Or his advisor’s, Quentius’, pitifully languishing under the tragic misconception that his precious ability to natter analytical mumbo-jumbo was sufficient qualification for a job that demanded Energy, Devotion, and Strength of Character.

Sparatus himself was quickly losing the last quality. He shut off the holo display of the mandatory “Killer Algorithm” that the Rite loved so much. It showed him and _everyone with enough security clearance_ how far he was from his goals, and how much time he had to complete the next progress threshold. They said they implemented the system to prevent unambiguous bad performances. Well, the way they interpreted “unambiguous” was pretty damn ambiguous for him.

But of course, he _was_ a Hardworking Representative of the Esteemed Hierarchy. Just the shame of not completing the requirements on time was enough to warrant another round of medical treatment, not to mention other inconveniences like being ineligible to submit expense reports. No, he would _not_ miss a deadline for the first time in a fifteen-year-long political career, _certainly not just three weeks before the annual performance review_. So why the hell couldn’t that bitch of an asari money gobbler make his life easier and give him what he wanted?

Right. Because all money gobblers wanted was to gobble even more money. Even though he had full discretion over the negotiation, Sparatus couldn’t justify betraying his conscience.

He opened the com-channel.

“Tell Roqlas the ask package is two billion seven hundred ninety-three million one hundred twenty-five thousand hedged Citadel Credits, 75% upfront payment over forty-two months, twenty years of technical support and maintenance from Engineering, and 99.9% contingent liability acceptance.”

His incompetent agent was startled, “But Councilor, that is 30% above her bid price! She won’t accept it!”

Sparatus sighed in exasperation. Didn’t he know how precious his time was?

“We made ‘concessions’ in all other aspects,” he said in his most patient projection, his mandibles nevertheless twitching, “Except for contingent liability, but she doesn’t need to know. Her budget depends on this contract, so an easy agreement for her is an enormous opportunity cost,” and _Spirits know the Hierarchy is_ all _about opportunity costs_ , “Use that to your leverage. Remind her otherwise it will doom twenty months of learning. She can’t quit on us.”

“What if she does? She seemed so aloof last time. What if her best alternative has changed? What if she made a deal with the humans?”

Sparatus rubbed his forehead: why would the Hierarchy keep sending him little shits who thought their next tier promotion depended not on _quality_ but _quantity_? And didn’t the little shit know that his boss wouldn’t ask if he didn’t know for certain? Of course, he needn’t know how he knew the humans made no such pact.

“The humans can’t compete with Engineering,” he only said, “Furthermore, this relationship gives her the only edge in her little cat fight with Thraiyar. And you know what? In the remote scenario where she snaps like a leaking pipe in Bruma, I’m not committing to a suboptimal solution just so it can come back to haunt my ass twenty years later.”

He paused. “Make it work, Yovrus. This is either your only chance to prove your worth to the Hierarchy, or the day when all your career plans explode in your face.”

The other side quieted. Then the agent said with a subdued projection, “Yes, sir.”

Sparatus cut off the com-channel. He had no illusion that Roqlas wouldn’t try to make a draconian counter-offer, and Yovrus wouldn’t be running back to him, calling for help like a helpless infant. It would just happen to coincide with the Salarian Union (cleverly disguised as a suspiciously united coalition of various “private” human/elcor/hanar/salarian firms) launching another wave of patent suits against Armax Arsenal, which then would be closely followed by Tevos marching into his office like she owned the place (although, technically speaking, she did) and demanding him give Roqlas _and_ Valern a better deal in some contrived fixed package that the Hierarchy would never agree to normally.

Just to add insult to injury, this particularly shitty day he was having even included a distressing surprise on-site visit by his direct superior, although having known whom his son travelled with, he really should have expected it. Even decorated officials had to occasionally selfishly obsess over family matters once in a while, he supposed.

In fact, there was only one thing that he would probably enjoy this entire week. He would have been comforted by the thought, hadn’t it proved just how insane he was.

* * *

Where there were living things, there were politics, Sparatus thought as he waited in the hotel lobby. An asari child was persuading a human child to yield his seat, arguing that his parents would be impressed with his nice human manners.

He did not wait to see whether the human child was duped. Donnel Udina had appeared, dressed simply, looking agitated and clearly a little drunk.

It was satisfying, in a way. After all, his sorry state was a result of the Council’s combined efforts. They knew Shepard would have chosen Anderson over Udina any day, which was also their preferred outcome, given Udina’s…unconventional…inclinations.

And so Shepard did, which made Udina really, really unhappy.

So unhappy, in fact, that when he looked at Sparatus, he even forgot to annoy him with bared teeth.

“We should get going,” instead he cut to the chase.

Sparatus said sarcastically, “Eager, are we?”

Udina laughed bitterly, “You’ve no idea.”

They were both silent on their way to the room that Udina had reserved. Different scenarios played in Sparatus’ mind. They shouldn’t take _all_ their clothes off, for example. It would be unnecessary for this purpose. And he had to be in control at all times, even when the data materialized – _especially_ when the data materialized. As they reached the door, anxiously he noticed his own magnetic field’s irregular shape, and was frustrated that only in execution did he start to notice a plan’s loopholes. Even though he had tested on enough humans to know their preferences, why did he presume that Udina wouldn’t do the same to him? Why did he think this experiment wasn’t going to complicate matters even more? _And why did he think the results would matter?_

Then Udina easily wrapped an arm around Sparatus’ waist and pulled him close.

“It’s been one month,” the human stated unnecessarily, and latched his mouth to Sparatus’ mandibles.

Sparatus stopped thinking. For a moment they just kissed, mandibles to “lips.” It was tempting to just let go and indulge in this strange camaraderie with an admired adversary who had at least as much stake in not getting this publicized.

But this time he had a reason.

Pulling away, Sparatus steeled himself. The human was still more involved than he was, given how tight his hands were holding his fringe, a possible advantage to be exploited.

He immediately set about regaining control of the situation. Gently, he pushed the human away. “You are forgetting something.”

Udina grinned. “How could I?”

He moved away from Sparatus, tore his clothing off and flung them aside.

For a human, he was probably attractive. He had harder, darker flesh than others, but Sparatus was not interested in the way he looked – well, not _that_ interested, anyway. It was more to the fact that it was _him_ , Donnel Udina, his some-time friend and some-time nemesis, a very charismatic man whose views he sympathized with, a man with whom he shared, amazingly, no contempt and even some degree of trust –

Sparatus suddenly had no wish to completely undress. He took off his pants.

Udina tsked, which turned into a groan when Sparatus grabbed his narrow hip and their crotches connected. It was almost embarrassing how quickly he loosened, and it took a great deal of willpower to not unplate completely when he felt Udina harden, doing what he would have done if he didn’t cling to his reason, which _proved_ just how much he missed…whatever this was. A thought that was disturbing in and of itself. Impulsively, he closed his fist around the human, who let out a shuddering breath.

He told himself Udina only looked like a skinned turian.

He let go of that alien organ, and pushed the human backwards until they fell on the bed, him on top of Udina. He licked his jaw, his blunted claws feeling the human’s softer, more sensitive side. Two years and three months, and he was _still_ amazed by how blatantly responsive Udina’s flesh was. The human responded by roughly thrusting upwards, seeking friction with Sparatus’ hip, but he abruptly shied away.

“I want to try something different,” he said coyly, deliberately stoking the human’s mating instincts.

His entire body flushing, Donnel widened his eyes. “You can’t –”

Sparatus said impatiently, “Took drugs. Wouldn’t dream of that doing _that_ to you fragile humans.”

“You _turians_ are –”

“Shh-” Sparatus straddled Udina, “Let’s debate whose race is more alien afterwards. You will like this, I swear, even if you never did it with a turian…”

Slowly, he lowered himself onto Donnel’s erection, carefully positioning himself so that it was not all the way.

For the next couple of seconds it was incredibly difficult to retain concentration, to get over the fact that they were where they were. Fortunately, he could still control his breathing. He couldn’t be distracted. After all, this was why he was doing this. If he faltered now…he concentrated instead on Donnel, who was completely still, his hot hardness against the folds of his vent unmistakable, but the human’s mating instincts somehow secondary to something else more powerful.

Sparatus stopped that train of thought. He hissed, “Spirits. Can’t you _move?_ ”

He demonstrated with a single, shallow thrust, feeling and ignoring the need for more.

Swallowing hard, Udina tried to snort. “Need a moment to…adjust. You prepared yourself?”

Ah, so at least he never did _this_ with a turian. “You are so naïve. Only humans need to, unlike everyone else.”

Udina responded with a sharp movement, the organ dragging against his insides. Sparatus grit his teeth and stood his ground, as in any combat situations. _It’s just an experiment._ He tried to disregard the fact if not for the awkward angle, Donnel would have touched it. Meeting Udina’s amused, heated eyes, he pretended as if nothing of interest had happened, as if his treacherous plates didn’t pull back just a bit further.

“Amazing self-control,” the human cooed, and traced his soft finger along the crevice. Sparatus resisted the reflex. Hearing the human that he admired use that tone was affecting, but the experiment hadn’t answered the question yet: in exactly what context did he admire him?

Udina said huskily, “Didn’t think you were a great lay when you asked me.”

Sparatus snorted too quickly. “Then why did you agree?”

Udina massaged the base of Sparatus’ neck, lightly tracing where he had left a mark in their last tryst through the fabric.

“Why not? But, you know what really gets me?” he was full of feigned sorrow as his hands spanned Sparatus’ waist, “You will betray us in a heartbeat if that serves your race’s interest.”

“‘Betray’ is such a strong word, Udina,” Sparatus leaned in with half-closed mandibles and eyes, “After all, we wouldn’t be here at all if we didn’t…represent our people.”

Donnel laughed. It was hoarse and lasted for too long.

Sparatus pushed the sudden, disturbing bitterness away. Gently pushing the human flat against the mattress, he bent down and planted his hands on each side of Udina’s head, and conversed on the one thing that they could both agree on. “Wanna guess who I got to meet behind your back?”

Donnel gasped, his magnetic field intensifying, “The ghost?”

Sparatus smirked, “No, just the corpse.”

He said softly against Donnel’s throat, “Like Saren, if the reports were correct. Personally, I would much rather get rid of them. All of them. Spectres are a salarian institution that should’ve stayed with the salarians.”

Donnel’s breathing was rapid and shallow, though probably because of the proximity of Sparatus’ teeth than anything else.

He said sardonically, “Well?”

It took a long time for the human to even grunt, “Seriously? When I’m _inside_ you?”

“I’m game if you’re capable,” he squeezed his walls again, shakily chuckling when the human shuddered pleasantly, “Since I do so appreciate intelligent conversation.”

He pulled up only to sharply impale himself on Donnel’s erection, clutching the human’s fleshy shoulders to dampen his own passions. The heated organ was throbbing hard inside him, the human’s trembling field engulfing his own in waves. If he were spread any wider, the reaction would have been crippling. Instead, he anchored himself to the trial. Just the evening following another shouting match about the “Reapers” with Valern, when he impulsively had courted Udina, who unexpectedly consented. At the time he couldn’t have seen any value.

He pinned the human’s wrists, more forcefully than intended, in a tone more desperate than intended, “What will you do if I start dismantling the Spectres?”

No sooner than the words left his mouth did he realize his own intent. The proposal itself was trivial. What mattered was _Donnel’s_ position. He was unprofessionally confusing duty with personal feelings.

Donnel shot back, “Does it matter? I’m not the Councilor.”

 _Of course._ Sparatus was both disappointed and relieved. “Scared? I thought only Valern needed a surgical removal from Tevos’ backside.”

Donnel, still excessively capable of speaking, turned the tables on him. “So, the Hierarchy’s economy, too contrac –?”

He tightened around him, relishing how easy it was to interrupt the human and eliminate the last of his brainpower. Releasing Donnel’s wrists, he grasped his jaw and bent his mouth towards him. “You don’t know _anything_ about the Hierarchy.”

Donnel’s breathing hitched.

Sparatus murmured, as gently as a lover, “Your ignorance reminds me of your so-called ‘First Contact War.’ I fought in it, you know. Best fight we had in a _century_ , according to Censorship. You have our thanks. The army was getting soft, but you reminded us the galaxy is a hostile, angry place full of dangerous things that want to kill us.”

He deliberately paused, “And that is why we did _everything_ we could to make it impossible. But we were over-cautious. Scared witless. The truth was you never could have killed us anyway.”

A distant part of his mind was upset that his magnetic pulses were out of control, and one offensive sentiment sprang to his cords in instinctive defense, “Because it is always human nature to be used, just as it is turian nature to use.”

Something had shifted in Donnel. His features contorted. He looked red. He also looked indignant, like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t through the haze of lust. It was undeniably a pleasing sight: the proud human who would do anything for his species, held by a turian in the thrall of mindless pleasure from a position that should have been a disadvantage.

He chuckled, his projection intentionally sultry, “Human feats are like fireworks – impressive and short-lived. You humans can’t _finish_ on your own terms, because you don’t have the _discipline_ to withstand –”

He sputtered and grabbed the headboard of the bed to steady himself, unable to suppress a surprised groan. Somehow Udina had shifted while he was busy ranting. The cunning human had sat up, his hands repressively tight around Sparatus’ waist, his prick finally fully embedded in him. The bastard glistened with sweat, his eyes utterly dark, and was _smiling_. An unreasonable heat coiled in Sparatus’ stomach and he fought not to pant.

“Donnel,” he instead said raggedly, “What are you –”

His legs wound around Donnel’s waist before he realized what he was doing when Donnel lunged forward so that Sparatus ended on his back, his fully emerged length trapped between their bodies. The human had hit the mark, and Sparatus had to clench his vocal cords to fight down the noise.

Donnel let out a noise that was half laugh and half gasp. “What was that, turian?”

He drove further into Sparatus’ depths, making his vision swim.

“What is it you’re saying about my people?”

“I _said_ –”

Another thrust, and this time he did moan. His control slipped and so did his claws. The sight of the human tight between his legs, on top of him, possessive, wrecked havoc on whatever twisted tendencies there were in his brain. He arched his back, pressing the human closer. Then Donnel bent down and grabbed his fringe.

“Sparatus.”

The assault had stilled; it was a question. He struggled to meet his gaze, yet beneath the lust and the anger, Sparatus saw apprehension, and the something that he –

He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Fuck me,” he whispered, not wanting to face the dawning realization.

It felt far too long before Donnel complied and fell into an annihilating rhythm even though surely, _surely_ that his hip and spurs made it all painful. He writhed beneath Donnel, their magnetic fields and presences pulsating and merging. He could feel everything about Donnel – his breathing and shaking that made their bodies resonate, the understanding, the compromising emotions that never should’ve been. Gasping like man drowning, he felt Donnel’s muscles tense, and he collapsed on top of him.

The horrifying realization bubbling just beneath his consciousness heightened the sensation of the too intimate heat surging inside him. Donnel then grasped his leaking shaft and stroked, pushing him over the edge even as his dulled higher functions came to the inevitable conclusion.

He reached his climax wordlessly and in one sharp movement, propped himself up and buried his face in Donnel’s neck, crushed by despair and thankful the human couldn’t know what the gesture meant.

* * *

The human gingerly slipped free of him.

“Fucking you is rather hard,” he said half-jokingly, rubbing his reddened thighs.

Sparatus shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

Laughing, Donnel draped an arm over his abdomen and shuffled closer, avoiding his own over-sensitive organ.

Sparatus could feel his warm breath on his neck. “I think, the salarians did the recession on purpose.”

He almost sagged against the human in relief. “Yes, the landing was too soft.”

“At least we both distrust them.”

“We do.” It was trite, but it did feel good to have common ground. Sparatus closed his eyes and prepared to doze off. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. Against his better judgment, he leaned into Donnel, if only before he had to face the consequences.

“Do you believe him?”

Sparatus’ eyes snapped open. “What?”

Donnel whispered, “Shepard and his Reapers. Do you believe him?”

His heart sank. Of course he did – like everyone else worth his weight. The evidence was unequivocal. It matched intelligence and explained what previously couldn’t be explained. Undoubtedly Donnel knew this as well, so he was –

He was asking for a promise that he couldn’t keep.

His body still smeared with the evidence of their coupling, Sparatus forced all emotions out of his projection, “I believe that he believes; I believe…” he barely hesitated before doing the irreversible damage, strangling their future in its infancy because it never should have surfaced, never should have even been _entertained_ , “if a man lies to himself enough times, he can be made to believe anything.”

It was the only thing he could have said under any circumstance, so why was it so difficult?

There was a long silence, as if the bombing had stopped, but the killing continued, only without the sound helping it seem real.

“I see.”

Donnel’s tone was bland, yet it was louder and clearer than anything he had ever said to him.

Sparatus made no reply.

They lay like that for awhile, motionless, until Donnel shifted and removed his arm, finally turning his back on him.

All remaining strength left Sparatus. His true motivation behind the experiment, then, had nothing to do with the Hierarchy. Shame and sorrow burnt in his chest. It was complicated, but it was also very simple:

He was no longer fit for duty. And he really needed to schedule that brain scan.

 


End file.
